Revenge: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 4)

by M. Glenn Graves

  The cabin appeared suddenly. I simply rounded a curve in the drive and there it was, some five hundred yards in front of me, more or less. There was a light shining through the front window but no other signs of life inside or out so far. I backed the Jeep up out of the sight of the cabin and parked it among some evergreens. Walking to the cabin from this spot seemed like the thing to do. It was likely that my Jeep had not made enough motor noise as to announce my arrival, and there were certainly enough trees between my position and the cabin front so as to hide me from anyone inside the cabin. The one exception would be that if the inhabitants had been expecting my arrival, then they could have noticed me. Detective work is sometimes an odd game of chance. Cloak and dagger and gambles.

  I told Sam to stay in the Jeep until I returned. I rolled down a window in case I might need him.

  I moved as quietly as possible through the fallen leaves of November inside the forest that adorned Rosey’s cabin road. My advantage and good fortune was that it must have rained recently. Super detective that I am, I noticed the wet leaves, some of which were clinging to my shoes as I walked along. They allowed me to make less noise in my investigative trek to the cabin.

  I stopped at the edge of my woods about thirty yards from the front porch of Rosey’s place. I knelt down and waited, mostly listening for possible sounds which might be forthcoming from inside. Silence. Even the forest was silent at the moment. It was cool, but not as cold as I had expected. In fact, I actually believe that it was warmer here on the side of this mountain in the twilight than it was in Norfolk this morning.

  I ran across the clearing to the left side of the porch. I moved along the left side of the cabin, hoping for a convenient look inside a window instead of storming through the front door and taking my chances with whatever or whoever might be on the other side. I was counting on finding Rosey’s Jaguar parked somewhere on the premises.

  The two windows on the left side of the cabin were too far off of the ground for me to look inside without benefit of a ladder or something on which to stand. Nevertheless, I stopped at each one and listened for sounds on the inside. Nothing but my own breathing was evident.

  I peered cautiously around the back corner of the cabin and spotted the Jag secured behind the structure. There was a back stoop with no rails nor steps, so I approached the back door by jumping onto the stoop and staying low. I could see nothing through the glass of the back door. It was dark inside. I slowly made my way to the other side of the cabin and discovered to my delight that the ground was higher on this side (or the windows were lower) which afforded me the privilege of actually looking into both of the windows. I did so, but saw nothing. There was enough light coming from the singular lamp in the large living area to tell me that the cabin, as far as I could see, was empty despite the presence of the Jag in the back. Most detectives would consider this a major clue.

  I rounded the corner to the front of the cabin and jumped onto the porch. I could easily see into the living room now and it appeared empty. I tried the front door and the knob turned. I drew my gun from the small of my back, pushed open the door with my foot and waited to see if anyone would shoot in my direction. I have often discovered that in my line of work it pays to be really careful even in the wilds of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.

  No shots were fired, so I moved stealthily through the door and assumed my well trained position with gun extended and eyes moving steadily from side to side around the room. Special thanks was due to the Norfolk Police Department for my education. I quickly walked through the cabin, visually searching the two small bedrooms, the kitchen, and then returning to the open area where I had entered. It took only a few minutes to determine that I was now standing alone in a cabin in some woods in an area one might easily refer to as the backside of nowhere. Rosey was not here, despite the presence of his Jag.

  I returned to my Jeep, drove up to the cabin, parked alongside of Rosey’s Jag to make my Jeep feel better about life in general, and brought Sam and my suitcase inside in order to spend the night alone in a very dark forest a long way from anything resembling a city. I pride myself on not being squeamish about such situations, but I will readily say that I was extremely happy to have my Glock with me on this night of nights. It helped to have Sam around as well.

  I decided to sleep in the bed that Rosey had made up for such an occasion instead of roughing it on the unmade one. After I locked the doors and took off my boots, I opened the refrigerator to see if Rosey had left any food on hand. I was hungry, tired from travel, and slightly curious as to where on earth my good friend was holed up.

  The note was leaning against the gallon of milk on the top shelf. Rosey had stocked up on food as if he had planned to be in the cabin for several days. Most of the food was still uneaten. The note was written on card stock and folded in half. It read:

  Hello, Clancy. I knew you would come sooner or later. People are generally predictable. I imagine that you are anxious to know where Roosevelt Washington is. At present that will have to remain my secret. Negotiations will be smoother if you do not know his whereabouts. Suffice to say, he is resting comfortably, more or less. We are waiting your call. Feel free to use the number on this note and I will gladly talk to you about your next move.

  an acquaintance

  443-804-0101

  PS Do not involve any police in this procedure between us. That would be a rather unhealthy decision for Roosevelt Drexel Washington.

  Chapter 3

  Despite my strong impulse to call the telephone number immediately, I decided to wait until morning. Sometimes the light of day and whatever rest one manages can often clear the mind and provide sharper thinking.

  I called Rogers to explain the situation. I also wanted her thinking.

  “Be wary, love. Could be a trap, you know.”

  “Of course it’s a trap, but do I spring it?”

  “Yes. However, let’s spring it with some careful planning,” Rogers said.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “What if you are the goal and Rosey is merely the bait?”

  “Continue.”

  “Let us say that the person who has Rosey is really after you and wants you. Likely wants you dead because you have no money. At least you have no money that could be found. So, if I am correct, they want you in all likelihood. They have you exactly where they want you because they correctly predicted you would come to the cabin. They had the advantage of time to do whatever it is that they wanted to do. Before you dial that number, I would search that cabin as if your life depended upon it. Then call me back.”

  I agreed, closed the cell, and began my search. I directed Sam to move about the cabin carefully and do his usual canine sniffing to warn me of anything unusual.

  I began in the kitchen. Instead of opening drawers and doors in a uniform search, I decided upon a visual exploration for wires and devices which might otherwise blow up and end my life prematurely. Searching with eyes only takes longer and is more nerve racking. With your life in the balance, it is worth the effort. Time and nerves be damned. Besides, I had all night.

  I found nothing suspicious in the kitchen.

  I moved cautiously to the great room, adjacent to the kitchen, and began a similar visual search for anything out of the ordinary. I checked my watch and I had been at this tense surveillance for a little over an hour. Nothing so far.

  Sam came into the great room and growled softly in my direction. I turned and met his eyes.

  “Find something?”

  He offered a soft yelp and disappeared down the hallway. I followed.

  He was standing in the doorway of the larger of the two bedrooms. I stopped behind him and surveyed the room. He was blocking my entrance into the room. I tried to go around him and he moved into my path. I could see nothing of any consequence in the room from my doorway position.

  “I see nothing suspicious,” I said to him.

  He growled softly and looked towards a small door in
the wall next to what appeared to be the closet door. He walked over to the small closet door, sat down in front of it, and growled.

  I approached craftily, meaning slowly and with great ease, being the wonderful detective I am. Fear and a desire to live can make one crafty.

  A small wire was coming out from under the door. On my hands and knees I followed the wire visually along the molding of the wall. The color of the wire blended in nicely with the color of the shoe molding and floor. It ran the length of the wall and then traveled up the corner with the adjacent wall before exiting through the window to the back of the cottage.

  Sam and I exited through the back door. We followed the wire as it emerged from the window to a small black box just inside the doorway to the crawl space under the house. I gently opened the top of the box and discovered the homemade bomb. I closed the lid even more gently than I had opened it.

  Sam and I returned to the bedroom and to the small closet door. I used my trusty penknife’s largest blade and felt all around the door for any other wires coming out from the bottom of the small door. There were none.

  I opened the small, paneled door as if the bomb could explode any moment and found that the wires were attached to a cell phone. Yikes.

  “You were right,” I said to Rogers as soon as she answered.

  “Don’t sound so surprised. I am usually right.”

  “So, what do you think? Is my hopeful killer close by, close enough to hear the explosion which would occur if I called that number?”

  “That would be my guess,” Rogers said.

  “Close enough to see the explosion?” I asked.

  “That I have no way of knowing since I cannot see the terrain.”

  “Even for November, the forest is thick and there are plenty of evergreens around the cabin.”

  “Hard to say for sure. You have a plan?” Rogers asked.

  “I do. I’ll do a wide canvass around the cabin and see if I can discover a suitable hiding place where the kidnapper might be holding Rosey. If I find it, then Sam and I will place the call from that spot and wait for the would-be assassin to emerge with my friend.”

  “Check that, Miss Sleuth. If the assassin thinks that you are dead, there is no reason to keep Rosey alive. If he is the bait, he is expendable with you dead.”

  “True enough. So the better plan would be to find the hideout, make sure that I have Rosey in my sights, place the call, and wait for the explosion. Then, at the sound of the explosion, I burst into the hideaway and save Rosey.”

  “Too dramatic for me. And, it sounds too easy.”

  “You have a better plan?”

  “I do not have sufficient data to formulate a better plan. My job is chiefly cognitive. You are the guns and guts of this operation. Give me time and more data, and then I will construct a better plan.”

  “Pretend that you are looking at me right now.”

  “Okay.”

  “The face into which you are staring is that of a skeptic with your better plan.”

  “But you know I’m right.”

  Chapter 4

  “Okay, Sam, here’s the plan,” I said to him while I ate some toast and eggs the next morning. I was rested but not eager for the events of the day to occur.

  “You and I will explore the environs for the place where Rosey is being held. Once we find him, we will wait for dusk to help camouflage us. Then we will place the call and blow up the cabin. Then we will rush in and rescue our friend.”

  I am never sure just what Sam understands when I talk with him, but he seemed to have a quizzical look when the verb blow up was used, as if to question my sanity. I sometimes question my own sanity. Why shouldn’t he?

  “It’s part of the ruse. Makes the kidnapper think we have succumbed.”

  Even as I explained the masterful plan to him, I had serious doubts about it. I never like to admit that Rogers is right, especially telling her that directly. It goes to ego.

  Sam lay down on the floor near the sofa and put his head on his outstretched front paws. I locked all the doors and decided to sit and think before launching my sure-fire scheme. I figured the pondering would serve me well for the time coming when the cabin would be gone and the real adventure begun. Consider and re-consider. Then pray.

  My contemplation turned into more sleep. Sam awakened me around four that afternoon. I must have needed the extra rest. The November shadows were lengthening and it was time for us to begin our reconnaissance.

  I had to allow for the possibility that whoever held Rosey captive was hiding out close by, maybe even watching us. I decided to go over my instructions to Sam once again. He likely gleaned all he needed the first time around. One can’t be too sure.

  We left the cabin and followed the rocky driveway to the main road. Once there, we turned right and I estimated a mile or so and then turned right again into a thick grove of evergreens. My purpose was to approach the cabin from another angle while doing the surveillance. I also wanted to travel around the cabin in a large arc from left to right trying to maintain a half mile radius. More or less. I gambled that the kidnapper was not within visual range of the cabin, but could easily hear the explosion from a half mile to a mile away.

  The still wet ground helped us to travel through the woods in relative silence. It was nearly dark when Sam stopped abruptly and raised his right front paw in that Labrador style indicating that he had heard or smelled something worth noting just ahead.

  I paused and scanned the horizon of trees and tree tops for anything, which might be a hideout. I spotted a tiny, dim light some two hundred yards ahead of us, about ten degrees off of dead center. We moved at our snail’s pace towards the light. Gradually the light helped me to discern a small structure. About fifty yards from it I realized it was a hunter’s cabin once upon a time, but had fallen into a shabby state. Two tree falls were lying across the roof and yet the building was still upright. Barely. The front door seemed to be absent and the small light was in fact a small fire burning in what appeared to be the center of the one room building.

  Sam and I remained at that fifty yard range safely hidden behind a cluster of trees on a little knoll. The lean-to shack was at the far end of small clearing but surrounded by evergreens and a few leafless deciduous trees. Even from my knoll position, the shabby cabin was on an uphill rise at the end of that clearing. I wanted to move ahead but knew that to be foolhardy. The terrain that Sam and I had traveled since leaving Rosey’s place was mountainous. Not rugged, but up and down would be the apt description. Sam was resting and I was glad to be sitting and still.

  It would be fully dark in about three hours and safer to travel. Now and then I could hear a human voice, but couldn’t discern many clear words. I wasn’t certain about two voices, but at least I could tell that there was one person talking. Sounds carry well at night. They also carry well in wooded areas especially if you’re listening to only one voice close-by. And you’re not talking.

  We sat and waited. I had to assume that Rosey was in that dilapidated hunter’s cabin and in some danger. If I was wrong, I was wasting time.

  If I had judged our travels from Rosey’s cabin to this spot correctly, then I was less than a mile from the bomb and whoever was in front of us could easily hear the explosion. The trick would be for me to get close enough to the structure, call that cell number, hear the explosion, and rescue Rosey before whoever had him would do him harm.

  It was a plan. Hardly foolproof.

  I also had to make an assumption at this point. I assumed that the villain who had captured Rosey was not yet aware that Sam and I had arrived at the cabin. I had some more things to do now that I had found a likely spot where Rosey was being held.

  So, instead of forging my way in with guns blazing, I left the night scene. Sam and I retreated back to our cabin with all the stealth of clumsy woodsmen. I should say that I was the clumsy woodsman since Sam could walk on hot coals without making a sound. Despite his hundred pound frame, he moved through
the forest with quiet ease. To my credit, I only stumbled three times, and fell on my face once. Too many years since I wandered around in a dark forest in Virginia.

  I found peanut butter and strawberry jelly sufficient for making a delicious sandwich. I gave Sam a peanut butter sandwich only. I preferred crunchy to the smooth, but I was hungry and had no one around with whom to complain. Rosey had some fresh milk on hand which capped off my dining pleasure. He liked peanut butter no matter how you served it to him.

  After we had dined sumptuously, we went over our plan of attack.

  “Here is the thing,” I said to Sam as if he could fathom every word I spoke. “We will return to that half fallen cottage where I think the kidnapper is holding Rosey. I will have you sneak close to the cottage door, remain out of sight and wait for the explosion. Once I place the call, I will give you the signal and you will attack anyone who is not Rosey in that building. I will come running to aid you as soon as I hear the bomb destroy this place. Whattaya think?”

  Sam was sitting on his haunches and listening intently to my ever-so-shrewd scheme. His eyes never veered from mine, but I thought I could detect some skepticism lurking behind his keen vision. If he had doubts, so did I. Perhaps my own doubts were imposed upon him. Too many variables, too many ifs, and too many unknowns to truly satisfy me.

  Despite my reservations, my plan was to return before dawn tomorrow morning. I slept on the sofa with Sam at my feet. I had no desire to sleep near the bomb in that bedroom across from Rosey’s.

  Sam woke me around 3:30. I was hungry after I splashed cold water on my face to make sure I was fully alive at that hour. I grabbed an apple from a bowl on the kitchen table and we left.

  Despite the darkness, Sam and I had no trouble finding the trail I had marked the night before. At least I had had the good sense to mark some trees and break some branches so that we would be able to return to our relatively safe spot about fifty yards or so away from the rundown hunter’s cottage.